


Bonds

by GlitteringKitten



Category: Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: British Comedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitteringKitten/pseuds/GlitteringKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick does some work, for a change, and Vyvyan insults him a step too far. Mike and Neil try to stay out of it; at least until the rent is due...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonds

“The problem with the idea of “the family dynamic” is that unless you _are_ actually a family, the pre-built bonds are not there - and when you insult one another, you’re just digging chips into the already fragile bonds you’ve created. For example. A set of brothers may despise each other, but under it all, there’s that blood bond that ties them together when something major happens. They can tease and torment each other as much as they like but they know that that bond will _always_ be there, that nothing can remove it. Or a father and son might disagree, but often a son will bow down to his father’s overall wishes if he sees it as the right thing to do, understanding that the father may know better, having lived for a lot longer. A mother will always, regardless of how they treat her, look after her children, care for them, feed them and where possible, put their needs before her own - accepting a backseat in decisions and completing any chores that need doing.

However, in a “family dynamic”, there are no ultimate ties - no blood bonds. No security to say that whatever happens, they will be there for each other. When two people take on the role of children, forever bickering, disagreeing, arguing and berating each other, and there are no underlying bonds, they need security that someone won’t get hurt; that someone will be forgiven. Instead of the bond of blood, a new bond must be forged; an unspoken bond of trust that promises that there will be no stepping over the invisible boundaries, that underneath the insults there is still friendship. Like children pulling at each others pigtails, it’s all just a sign of approval - I like you, I want to be important to you, I want to hold you attention. And, normally, in this situation the creation of the “friendship” bond will lead to another type of bond; the bond between a mother and a father - the bond of love. It would be logical to say that this bond of love only happens if that trust is never broken, those invisible lines never breached. Sometimes, however, it can be more beneficial to break the initial bond, to overstep the line - to see each other in a new light. It can be the distance created with one disruptive situation that can remould the bond to make it romantic; make a partnership. Of course, it isn’t always that easy…”

“Could you _be_ any more boring, Rick?” Vyvyan asked, taking the essay out of Rick’s hands and throwing it in the sink. Within seconds it was hidden beneath the remainder of last night’s lentils, an old, mouldy tin of soup and soapy dishwater. Rick didn’t even get a chance to take it back before Vyvyan started to use the scrubbing brush from the side to tear it to pieces.

“Oh, wow, Vyvyan, thanks man,” Neil commented, completely mis-reading the situation and presuming that Vyvyan was washing up, despite the fact Rick was fighting his hands in the water. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing the dishes. That’s so nice of you…” Both boys turned to look at the hippy, and in unison told him to shut up and piss off. 

Neil nodded apathetically, and muttered something about getting some lentils from the garden for tea. He disappeared out of the back door with both boys watching, still, as if waiting for him to get out of their private space. The minute the door closed, they carried on their argument, fighting beneath the soapy water until finally Vyvyan’s brush ripped through the paper enough that it would fit down the plug hole. 

“That was my essay on the nuclear family, Vyvyan! You utter bastard, that took me all night!” Rick glared at the other boy, trying not to let the tears from his eyes escape down his face. “I worked blummin’ hard on that!”

“It was a stupid essay,” Vyvyan wiped his hands on Rick’s blazer, ignoring the distress he was in and picking up a fork from the side. He began to pick his ears out with the prongs, looking with interest at the bizarre black stuff that came out as he dug further in, “Blood bonds don’t exist.”

“Yes they _do_. I read about it in a book. Besides what would you know about blood bonds?” Seeing a chance to take a dig at the ginger-haired boy as revenge, Rick continued, “Your mother barely saw you when you were growing up, she was too busy putting her hands down people’s trousers and in their pockets. You wouldn’t know what one was if it hit you in the face.” Not missing a beat, Vyvyan dropped the fork and punched Rick in the face, knocking him unconscious. He stared at the other boy for a few seconds, to make sure he was still breathing - there was no way he’d kill Rick, it meant paying an extra third of the rent. Seeing his chest raise up and down was sufficient evidence to Vyvyan that he was still alive, and therefore no longer anything to be concerned over. He stepped over the other boy’s body and headed up to his room, breaking the door handle to Neil’s room on the way.

When Rick finally came around, he found Neil sitting beside him, mediating, and Mike was using his back as a foot rest. 

“Uh, Mike,” he stammered, politeness crawling out of his voice and causing him to stammer a little, “Don’t suppose you’d mind if I - you know, got up?” Mike looked at him over the edge of his newspaper, and Rick sighed, putting his head back on the floor and trying to remember his essay. _Stupid Vyvyan_ , he thought, _he always ruins everything I do. It’s like he’s got nothing better to do with his time than antagonise me.  
_  
“Neil, I don’t like to cause a scene, but I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with you. It’s five past six, and you don’t even seem to be contemplating cooking. What’s going on?” The words from Mike’s mouth, an hour later, were accompanied by movement in his seat - finally taking his shoes off of Rick’s back. Slowly, trying not to make if obvious, Rick stood up, commenting lightly to detract the attention from him to Neil.

“Yeah, hippy, where’s our dinner?”

“There was this man in the compost heap who told me that the lentils I wanted were only a representation of the love I desire, and it was such a deep thought I had to just… meditate on it for a bit, you know?” Neil said, turning to face the two guys at the table. Rick sneered, meeting Neil’s eyes and shaking his head in disbelief. Mike, on the other hand, seemed to be in deep concentration. After a few seconds he folded his paper up and put it on the table.

“Now Neil, that’s very astute, and I completely appreciate that you’re not getting any love if you know what I mean. But try as I might, I can’t comprehend how that has any relevance to the fact my dinner isn’t on this table,” he paused, “and unless you can come up with a better reason within the next ten minutes as to why it’s still not there, I’m going to tell Vyvyan about that trip you sent SPG on down the sewers via the toilet, if you know what I’m saying.” 

“Oh, heavy, man, heavy…” Immediately, Neil got up off the floor and began to bang pots and pans around. Mike picked his paper up and began to read again, dismissing the conversation - certain that within minutes he’d have yet another god-awful lentil surprise sitting in front of him. Rick opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by Neil. 

“Where _is_ Vyvyan, anyway? He was doing the washing up earlier… and now the sink’s blocked.” Rick scowled at the longhaired boy, remembering exactly why he’d been so angry and why he’d been passed out on the floor. Turning on his heels, he started off to his bedroom, taking the stairs as quickly as he could. When he arrived outside his room, he stood with his ear to the door, listening carefully in case Vyvyan had set something up however, all he could hear Neil’s incessant questions to Mike about lentil casserole from the kitchen below. 

He opened the door, fully expecting something to fly down and hit him, shock him, explode on him, throw up on him - generally irritate him. To his surprise, there was nothing. In fact, more to his surprise, he found Vyvyan lying on his bed, reading one of his dirty magazines from beneath the mattress. The ginger haired punk looked up at him as he stood in the door way, and Rick edged uneasily into the room. Some part of him wanted to rebel, screaming _this is my room, don’t be so cowardly, tell him to piss off,_ but the rest of him was quite used to the idea of Vyvyan doing odd things and was just trying to prepare itself for the worst. The door stayed open as he sidestepped across to his wardrobe, resting against it gently before coughing and speaking.

“Vyvyan whatareyoudoinginmyroom?” The words stumbled out faster than a bullet train, and Vyvyan stared at him, a sycophantic grin on his face. Rick shut his eyes for a second, then reopened them, slowly repeating himself, this time with more confidence. “What are you doing in my room?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Vyvyan answered, flicking through the magazine to find a page full of half naked women. Rick frowned, getting more confident by the second. Nothing was going to happen all the time Vyvyan was in the room; he never attempted anything that would end up killing himself as well - despite his bleak outlook, Rick knew he was very careful about that.

“Well, I hardly know, do I? You just waltz in here, reading dirty magazines on my bed, and what am I supposed to think?” Suddenly a smirk plastered itself on Rick’s lips, “If I didn’t _know_ better, I’d think you were coming in here to throw yourself at me with that kind of incentive. Who storms into someone’s room and waits for them reading girly mags unless they’re trying to get into their pants, hm?” Folding his arms, Rick shrugged, “I’m sorry I’m so irresistible, but you know full well I’m only going to sleep with Felicity Kendal.”

Narrowing his eyes and shutting the magazine, Vyvyan sat up and swung his legs over the edge of Rick’s bed. The movement was so sudden it startled Rick, who took a step back without thinking and backed into his wardrobe door, prompting several boxes to fall off the top and onto Rick’s head, eliciting several yells of anguish from the spotty adolescent. The scowl on Vyvyan’s face didn’t quite disappear at the obvious pain the other boy was in, however it did appear to ease it a little, creating a snort of amusement. 

“Oh shut up and get out of my room, Vyvyan,” Rick yelled, throwing one of the boxes at him. Vyvyan dodged it easily and threw the magazine back, catching him square on the forehead. As Rick stumbled back, Vyvyan stood up, meeting him face to face, searching his eyes for something before sneering.

“You’d never get anyone even remotely like Felicity ruddy Kendal near your bed, Rick, they’d take one look at you and run a mile over hot coals and broken glass in the other direction.” The words spat themselves into Rick’s face, every little movement of Vyvyan’s face, every twitch, close enough for him to recognize and feel hurt by. 

“And if they _did_ stay near you it’d only be because some rotten sod would’ve poked their eyes out with hot pokers to prevent them having to look at you. The minute you’d start blathering on about your crush on Thatcher, they’d be begging that same person to autopsy them while they’re still alive; slice them open without anaesthetic.” As if to prove his point, Vyvyan ran a finger down Rick’s chest, sneering, “That, Rick, is why nobody stays around you. Because you make suffering and torture look like free lunch to a starving child. No wonder your parents died and left you here to rot with us.”

With that, Vyvyan shoved past him, disappearing out of the room to his own. The door slammed loudly, and Rick could hear the sounds of chainsaws starting up, followed by the sounds of collapsing woodwork. Vyvyan’s words echoed around his mind, battering him in all the right places repeatedly until he felt tears in his eyes. He sank down to the floor, trying hard not to cry, but failing miserably and wiping his tears on the sleeve of his blazer. He stayed there all night, falling asleep in the corner, missing the drama of the lentil casserole and Mike’s trip to the hospital after. Nobody thought to tell him what was going on; they just forgot all about him.

Rick spent the following day rewriting his essay. On the few occasions he left his room, he only met Neil on the stairs, who offered him a lentil sandwich. It surprised them both when he took it gratefully, despite the bread being made of compressed lentil casserole, and the inner filling being more lentils. He took it back to his room and ate it quietly, not quite sulking but not quite working. Neil knocked on his door twice, hoping to get the plate back, asking several times until the door opened and Rick smashed the plate on his head. Mike saw the entire exchange, but made no comment, more concerned with the fact Vyvyan had started to plant explosives on the banister. After a brief chat, the explosives were removed and placed into what Mike deemed a “safe environment”. Neil was glad he was an insomniac that night, as he couldn’t fit in his bed for dynamite.

It was therefore the day _after_ that that Neil made the remark about Rick’s behaviour.

“Guys, I don’t like to be a downer or anything,” both Mike and Vyvyan looked at Neil, knowing that a sentence like that could never be good news, “but have either of you seen Rick today?” Neil placed the kettle on the stove, eyes on his housemates. Mike had the air of someone who knew something he wasn’t saying, but said nothing. Vyvyan on the other hand was digging into a bowl of cornflakes with a bizarre spoon contraption that appeared to be melting the corn as it touched it, and had stopped paying attention. Neil tried again.

“I don’t mind if he’s like, on holiday or something, and just didn’t tell me - nobody tells me anything, so it wouldn’t be a surprise, but I kept his lentil casserole and I don’t want it going to waste… and he hasn’t paid his share of the rent this month.” Suddenly both boys at the table sat up straight.

“Now hold on a minute Neil, are you telling me that we’re one forth of the rent down this month?” He put the newspaper in Vyvyan’s bowl, causing it to become soggy and coated in cornflakes. Neil shook his head, as if to avert the crisis, then said simply, “Yeah…”

“It’s not my rent, I paid in full twice last month. And besides, Neil you owe me rent money from last month so that’s three months I’ve paid already. So I’ve still got two to go.” Vyvyan motioned with his spoon at the other boy, jabbing the air in a violent manner to prove his point. Neil frowned, certain he’d missed out somewhere there, but before he got a chance to speak, Mike nodded in agreement.

“That’s right Vyvyan. And you owe us for the telephone bill we paid last month, Neil. That telephone doesn’t pay for itself you know.”

“But I only answer it, I never make calls on it…” He protested, still feeling like he was veering off topic slightly. Vyvyan stood up, leaning across the table, and grabbed Neil’s top by the collar.

“Look, Neil, I think you and I know how this is going to end. So how about you go find Rick and give him the heads up about the money he owes and we just forget this ever happened.” Mike stated, watching as Vyvyan began to pull back his arm. Neil nodded vigorously, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, ok, Mike. But -” His voice wobbled as Vyvyan’s arm lingered, “but that’s what I’ve been trying to say. I haven’t seen Rick anywhere. For like, two days.” 

Both Mike and Vyvyan stared at Neil, trying to understand why this was important.

“I think… he’s upset.” Neil elaborated, eyes still on Vyvyan’s fist. The ginger punk let him go, folding his arms defiantly. Mike shrugged.

“We’re all upset when money’s concerned, Neil, but it doesn’t make it any easier if you don’t pay your share. Now go upstairs and get it out of him.” Neil shook his head, stepping backwards in the kitchen to grab a frying pan, to continue cooking breakfast. 

“I tried, Mike. He’s not talking to me.”

“That’s because nobody would talk to you if they had the option,” Vyvyan pointed out helpfully, but he was beginning to feel slightly uneasy in his stomach. It didn’t feel like gas, he knew that feeling well, and it wasn’t another phantom pregnancy. It was … something deeper. “Look. I’ll go get his money and we can all go back to ignoring him and his boring little sulks, all right?” The suggestion flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider what it meant. 

Neil smiled and nodded, turning back to his hob, flames swallowing the frying pan and making the lentils he’d poured into it bubble. Mike picked his paper back up, only to find it was too wet to read, and got up, leaving behind Neil‘s confused look at his parting statement of; “If I’m not back by eleven, leave the door on the latch - I’m off to find the broadsheets, and I don’t mean of the newspaper variety.”

Vyvyan stormed straight into Rick’s room, not bothering to open the door, just breaking through it with his head. Rick didn’t even look up from the book he was reading, so used to Vyvyan’s intrusions that they didn’t require acknowledgment.

“Oi, Ploppy pants. Where’s the rent?” Vyvyan took hold of the book he was reading and threw it out the window, like a threat to back up his demand. Rick sighed loudly and reached into a small jar on the desk beside him, counting out the money and handing it over without saying a word. He picked up a second copy of the book he’d been reading from the floor, found his page and continued to read. Vyvyan waited. And then waited some more. Finally, Rick looked up at him, shutting his book and folding his arms.

“Yes, Vyvyan?” The sentence, despite how short, said exactly what Rick was thinking. _Go away, I’m too busy to deal with you - you are not important to me any more._ Vyvyan scratched the back of his neck with a finger - not necessarily his own, just one he had on him at the time - and chewed on his lip; deep in thought.

“Look, unless you want something…” Rick’s eyes travelled over the punk’s body, as if trying to work out why he was there, if it was some obvious trick waiting for a punch line. Finally deciding there was nothing of interest there, he met Vyvyan’s eyes again. “Unless you want something, would you mind leaving? I’ve got an essay to write. And a lot of reading to get on with.” He indicated the paperwork on the desk with his book, legs crossed, defensively waiting for Vyvyan to do _something_. It was unnerving them both to be in the situation - Rick knew Vyvyan well enough to think if he was quiet, he was plotting, and Vyvyan was stunned, and genuinely couldn’t think of what to say. 

Decisively, Vyvyan took hold of Rick’s book and threw it out of the window, quickly followed by all of his stationery, a few of his trousers and, after much consideration, the chair Rick had been sitting on. But Rick said nothing, just waited, watching with a weary eye from his new position on the bed. 

“Are you quite finished?” The words hung stale in the air, tempting Vyvyan to do something worse. He grabbed a tennis racket from under Rick’s bed and whacked him around the head with it, surprised when Rick on winced at the connection; didn’t retaliate. After a few minutes of waiting, Vyvyan finally grabbed the essay off the table and ripped it up into strips, eating it in front of Rick with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Vyvyan you complete -” Rick stopped himself, taking in a deep breath, clenching his fists and forcing himself to calm down. “I think that’s enough. Can you go now, please? I’ve now got two essays to write, and I need to get on.” Vyvyan frowned, pursing his lips and dropping the remaining pieces of essay onto the floor. He hit Rick on the head with the tennis racket again as he left through the hole he’d made in the door, confusion evident on his face.

It was two days before Vyvyan managed to get anywhere with him. Rick was still ignoring everyone - well, within reason. The odd questions, such as, _who put my underwear in the fridge_ , and _why are there three dancing bears in my room,_ were asked - but even they were asked with a sense of boredom and acceptance. Neil was beginning to think he was being usurped as the depressed-housemate, and it didn’t, in his opinion, bode well for the house dynamic. 

“Look, guys, I know Rick’s not like… that nice or anything, and all he ever does is whine about… well, everything, and I don’t like to make it into a big deal, but if he like, tops himself or something, we’re all going to be in the proverbial shit, you know? He got us back into our house, you know, after the entire … inheritance thing; and if he’s not here then like, we’ll all be stuck out in the cold. Like milk in the morning.” He looked up the stairs, hoping that Rick didn’t hear him, but at the same time, hoping it might make him come out and complain about how little they cared. The now-boarded-up door to his room remained closed, without even a hint of movement from the room behind it.

“It’s ok Neil,” Mike stated, closing the magazine he was holding, “Vyvyan’s going to snap him out of this, aren’t you Vyvyan?” The look he shot Vyvyan gave the punk no choice, and he nodded, putting down the toaster-teapot he was trying to fix. Well. Create, more than fix. Mike opened his magazine again and dismissed the conversation; letting Neil and Vyvyan stare each other out over it. Finally, Vyvyan climbed over the edge of the sofa and head up the stairs, muttering under his breath.

The truth was, Vyvyan wasn’t sure _how_ to snap Rick out of it. He’d tried three times to get Rick to react - violence, explosives, name calling - all the things he would normally do that would irritate the other boy and get a reaction - and none of it was working. He didn’t like to admit it, but something was _seriously_ wrong, and he was worried. He’d gotten so used to the other boy just accepting his attacks, retaliating, that when he stopped doing it, it had been like a door shutting on his foot. Sudden, unexpected, and quite painful. Not that he’d tell the others that. After all, they’d already come to the conclusion it was his fault anyway, and that whatever it was, they had to sort it out between themselves. Just… quickly. Without their involvement. So telling them that he was concerned and didn’t know what to do would just escalate the problem. 

He stood outside Rick’s door, examining the crudely made repair job - finding it possible to see the other boy sitting on his bed reading an old looking book through one of the holes. Normally he’d burst in, attack the other boy, and just expect some kind of rebuttal, but when he’d attempted that the day before Rick had just waited, letting him beat him with a stick, allowing him to tear his bed sheets in to pieces and burn his carpet, until he had no other plans and had to leave. In fact, not only had he waited, he’d carried on working. As if Vyvyan hadn’t even been there. The only sign that he’d known he was there was when he’d asked him to pass him the book on Crime from his bed - and even then, when Vyvyan had set the book in question alight, he’d just picked up his glass of water and thrown it over the book, sighing quietly.

So. This was going to take a different approach. Diving in guns blazing wasn’t going to work. He needed to do something… more subtle. Shutting his eyes and repressing the urge to just storm in, Vyvyan raised his hand to knock on the door - except he stopped, when he realized Rick wasn’t just reading the old book, he was crying over it. The temptation to call him a girl through the door pulled tightly on his tongue, but Vyvyan resisted, knowing he could save it for later. Instead, he knocked loudly, and called through the door.

“Let me in, you big sissy.” The words startled Rick so much he dropped the book on his bed. Photos and other pieces of paper spilt out across the floor, making him hastily try to pick it all up before Vyvyan stomped into his room.

“What do you want?” The anger in Rick’s voice was uneasy, as if he was being caught wearing the dress Neil had found in his closet, and wasn’t sure how to defend himself. Vyvyan sat on his bed, reaching over to look at the photos and paper that had been stuffed back into the paperback book on the bed. Rick’s hand darted out to stop him, but it was too late.

“ _The Magic Faraway Tree_?” The temptation to call Rick on his girly choice of book tingled across the edge of Vyvyan’s lips - but he resisted when he saw Rick’s face. He’d told himself to be subtle, to try not to storm in and just carry on as usual, and he was bloody well going to try it. If only so he could get a reaction out of the other boy at a later date. Rick seemed to be cowering slightly on the floor, holding the remaining papers to his chest and eyeing Vyvyan with fear.

“What do you want, Vyvyan?” The unease disappeared from his voice as he realized the other boy wasn’t planning on tormenting him directly. It still concerned him, but it made him less uncomfortable. Grabbing the book back, he shoved the papers into it and pushed it under the bed. Tears from his earlier crying still rested on his cheeks, and he quickly tried to rub them off, denying even to himself their existence. He stood up suddenly, so he was taller than Vyvyan; giving himself an upper hand. Except Vyvyan still wasn’t saying anything. “Look, I’ve lots to get on with so-”

“Like what?”

“Like… essays.” The lie fell between them awkwardly. Vyvyan knew he hadn’t been working, and Rick knew he knew. He tried again. “And I’ve got to have a bath.”

“Yeah. I could smell you rotting from downstairs.” The words fell out of the punks mouth without thinking, and he immediately regretted them when Rick headed over to his door, holding it open. 

“Look - do you mind?” Rick waited, one hand on his hip, dressing gown half open, cheeks red still from his tears. He looked worse than normal; and for a second, Vyvyan _felt_ how upset he was. Rick might not have been the cleanest student in the world, but even he normally took a bit of pride in his appearance. It was like he’d just given up completely. Vyvyan stayed where he was, leaning back and making himself comfortable on the bed. The movement irritated the other boy, and he clenched his fists. _Ah,_ Vyvyan thought, _this might work_. He pulled a scalpel out of his pocket and started to clean his fingernails out with it, relaxing and ignoring Rick’s attempts to indicate to him to get out. After a few moments, Rick sat back on his chair, picking up a book on Lenin and started to read. 

“Look Rick -”

“If you’re going to be in here, the least you can do is be quiet.” Rick replied, before Vyvyan could even begin to speak. The softer tone of Vyvyan’s voice hadn’t been lost on him, however, and he looked over to the other boy, trying to pretend he was glaring, but failing miserably.

“Neil’s worried about you.” 

“No he’s not. He’s worried about being evicted because none of you can pay the rent. None of you _care_ what’s going on with me. You’re just worried that my meal ticket will expire if I commit suicide.” The outburst surprised Vyvyan, he’d expected some kind of sarcastic remark about Neil worrying being like saying Britain was often rainy - unnecessary to comment upon. He sat up, bringing his boots on the bed and leaning against the wall.

“That’s not entirely true, you know.”

“Oh really?” Rick shut his book, glaring at the mess the dark boots were already leaving on his bed sheets. “Are you trying to tell me that you’d care if I wasn’t here? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. I‘m not _that_ stupid.” His voice became a little shrill as he continued, “I’m not some idiot who can’t see when people despise me. I know you all sit down there discussing me and how much you wish I’d just stop being a whiney git. I thought you were all joking before, just saying it to get a rise out of me, but obviously I was wrong. So why don’t you just stop pretending to be nice to me and piss off?”

Vyvyan stared at the other boy, surprised to see how upset he was. They’d _always_ taken the piss out of him. It was their … thing. That was how they communicated. He couldn’t just decide to take it seriously one day and give up; that wasn’t part of the rules. 

“Bloody hell Rick, what’s crawled up your arse and died?”

“I don’t know Vyvyan, why don’t you tell me? You’re good at telling me what’s wrong with me, aren’t you? Good at finding the nail in the coffin, whacking it in with your bloody boots and kicking it underground. How about you find it this time and tell me, what crawled up my arse and died?” Rick folded his arms, staring out of the window to disguise the fact his eyes were filling with tears. “Maybe I’m just sick of it, ok? Living with people who despise me. The only friends I have left in the world and they don’t even ruddy like me. So can you just… piss off? Leave me to ‘rot’ in here on my own, as you put it?”

And suddenly the penny dropped. Vyvyan knew exactly what had crawled up Rick’s arse and died; and as the others had thought, it had been his fault. He’d crossed the line the other day, when having a go at the spotty twerp. He’d insulted Rick’s parents and it was just too soon after they’d died to do so. Well, how was he supposed to know it was too soon? What was the standard time for insulting dead parents anyway? Was it a year, was it a month, what? And besides, he’d been insulting him for good reason - he’d come in to Rick’s room perfectly ready to talk about the fact they were, in a way, the children of the household and maybe what Rick had been saying in that drippy essay about bonds and relationships had been right - maybe - and the bastard had just insulted him and made him sound like a poof. Which wasn’t at all true, not in the least, and he hadn’t overreacted _at all._

“Rick…” Of course, he couldn’t very well take it all back, could he? Because that would imply he’d been right about the bonds and the relationship and stepping over the line and … that maybe he was right about the feeling like there could be something more to the relationship even though Vyvyan was not in any way at all interested in him in a gay way that involved bottom touching. No way. Even if he had missed tormenting him. And all the physical touching. And the reactions that meant he mattered to Rick in a profound undisclosed, mucked up kind of disturbing manner.

“Just get out, Vyvyan.” Rick requested, quietly, as though all of his energy has just disappeared. Pursing his lips, Vyvyan shook his head.

“No.”

“Vyvyan, _please_ , get out. Leave me alone.” Rick glared at him, desperation on his face, arms tightening around his body in an act of defensive, self preservation. Vyvyan grinned, suddenly getting an idea.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me, fartface?” The look on Rick’s face changed from desperation and anger to just pure hatred, as if someone had told him Thatcher was going to take his clothes and wear them to her next event to promote fascism. He got up off the chair and grabbed Vyvyan by the shoulder, trying to wrench him off the bed with his fingers. Immediately, Vyvyan grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him over his head, whacking him against the wall in the process. He pushed Rick down against the bed and took the closest thing to him - a massive blue book on Sociology - and beat him on the head with it.

“Don’t ignore me again,” was all he said, punctuating each word with a whack on the head. Rick held his arms up against his face, trying to protect himself, only to find Vyvyan dropping the book down on his arm, making him scream in pain. Beneath them, in the kitchen, Mike and Neil looked upwards and smiled, certain that Vyvyan had fixed the situation, and that soon Rick would be carrying on his normal tirade about Thatcher’s Britain and awful poetry. 

“I’m only going say this once in your life time, so don’t get any ideas,” Vyvyan started, slightly out of breath from his beating, “I don’t hate you. I don’t despise you. You might be one of the most obnoxious people on the earth, and you infuriate me to no end, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. So stop thinking these stupid thoughts and start behaving like your normal self. Or I’ll have to take extreme measures.” Rick swallowed uneasily, the close proximity of Vyvyan’s face to his own as he spoke making him uncomfortable. 

“Extreme measures?” He repeated, not really sure whether he wanted to know what that entailed. Vyvyan huffed, as if resenting him for even questioning the situation, and then pressed his lips down against Rick’s, pushing his body against the other boy’s to prove the point he was making. His nose ring pressed painfully into Rick’s upper lip, to the point that Rick felt he hand no choice but to respond, if only to stop the pain. He could feel Vyvyan’s hand holding his shoulders down, taking full control of the situation, and found he wasn’t completely sure he minded. It was, though he’d never admit it, quite nice. When Vyvyan started to pull away, Rick tried desperately not to let his body move with him, making the kiss last longer, but failed miserably, and found himself sitting up, kissing the ginger punk without much consideration for any aftermath. 

“So…” As they finally pulled apart, Rick looked at his bed sheets, shy and uneasy, because this was a line he’d not crossed before. And one he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross with Vyvyan, however nice it might’ve been.

“So stop being a big girly poof and start acting like yourself again.” Vyvyan stated, as though the kiss hadn’t happened. “Because I can’t do this every time you decide that nobody likes you. I might get a disease.”

“Oh shut up Vyvyan, I’m completely clean. In fact, I’m more concerned that I might catch something from you. Who knows where you and those disgusting boots have been,” Rick glared, pushing the other boy on the chest, “In _fact_ , I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t stick your tongue down my throat ever again thank you very much, because it’s the most disgusting tongue I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

“Oh yeah?” Vyvyan threatened, “Like I’d want to stick if down your throat again anyway, you might try to bite it off.” He grabbed the edge of Rick’s top, pulling him closer, “So don’t even think about it.”

“Like I’d be that childish,” Rick snorted, giving Vyvyan a once over, “I’m a _vegetarian,_ I’d never bite your tongue off. It’d be like eating your … I mean … not that I’ve thought-” He stammered, realizing that that wasn’t quite the answer he was expected to give. He was meant to give some kind of rebuttal, something to dissuade the other boy doing it again. Not encouraging him to try it to prove a point.

“Shut up Rick.” Vyvyan growled, and smashed his lips against Rick’s again, forcefully pulling the other boy closer once more, before breaking away and getting up. “And stop being such a girly swot, hiding in your room doing essays all the time. Bleeding poof.” With that, he stormed out of the door, not bothering to open it, just re-making the same hole he had a few days before. Rick watched as he disappeared into his own room, not quite missing the strange, confused look Vyvyan shot at him before he shut the door behind himself. And then he smiled to himself, at the fact he was wanted, that he wasn’t hated, that maybe, maybe even, he might be loved a little. And then a cricket bat flew through the hole in the door and knocked him unconscious, and he didn’t get a chance to think about it any more.


End file.
